Old Timers

The sun is shining, a cold, post-rain Autumn sun. I woke up and headed downstairs, poured a cup of coffee and shuffled out to the backyard in my flannel jammies and slippers to sip from the warm mug cradled in my hands while drinking in the fresh morning.

There was a man sitting out there. A man about to be 60 years old come March. Still a boy/man to me on somedays. Like when he pivots sideways and dips a shoulder as he heads out the kitchen door. Ancient movements that ring like a clear bell.

My first love. My best friend. The Grampy to my Busha.  My happiness and my nemesis. We've been together in life for so long that we've been every shade of dark and light to one another. He probably woke in his downstairs room, stretched, and headed out for his own version of this Autumn morning.  His cup of coffee.  Cigar.

But we two are not the old timers that titled this post. Not yet. Those old timers were warming the feet that were perched on that outdoor table in the sun. Those hand-knit, Fair Aisle socks that I knitted for him for his 50th birthday. Ten year old socks are old timers. Worn. Loved. Softer with age. Socks he pulls out of his drawer come cold weather.  Socks I am sure he had all but forgotten about.  A nice surprise when you wake up cold.  Like finding that phone number scribbled on a matchbook cover in the back pocket of your old jeans.

So there they were again. Holding their own. I looked at them, smiled, and wondered where the years had gone. Wasn't that just yesterday I was knitting round and round in brown and green?

 

"Don't move!" I said. "Lemme get my camera..."

"yeah-yeah"  was all he said (in his hardass/soft heart kind of way). As if he knew that was coming. 

And so it goes with us.

Comments

[tracey k in ohio]

Beautiful :-)

[Vickie]

What a wonderful post, Marianne. I've missed the warm fuzzy I get reading your words. The socks are wonderful and make me wish I'd learned to knit. And I just love the description of your relationship. xo